[[Snowed in]]

[adifferentlife]

Sybil has never been more grateful for a few days off from work with all of the snow that has tumbled down on Darrow over the past few hours. It is relentless, rather like the snow that had trapped them in Kagura, except this time at least Henri and she are in their own home.

"Do you think we have enough formula," she asks Henri, looking in the cupboards. Their refrigerator is full, as are their cupboards. There is bottled water in case they have need of it, and the medical kit that Kaine had gifted to her that she has kept well-stocked even with his departure. There is also wine simmering on the stove, the beautiful bouquet of cloves and cinnamon filling the room. "I think we must, if it only lasts a few days."

She turns to look at her husband, holding a sleeping Sybbie in his arms. There is something about seeing the two of them together that warms her heart. This is her child and her husband and they are a family now though not the one either of them had expected. "We should put her down before she wakes again."

Comments

[jaimemieux]

Combeferre reaches for the popcorn and tosses it into his mouth. “And what are we in for with that?” He has learned not to trust titles, and even genres. The modern world likes comedies that are not funny, fantasies that are too familiar, and stories without plot or moral. Not all of his unexpected discoveries have been bad, but he has learned to choose carefully.

[adifferentlife]

"There's singing and dancing, and..." She looks back to him, with a sheepish smile. It has an someone in it that she's rather fond of, and Sybil sometimes finds it embarrassing. "It has Bing Crosby. He sings, and acts."

[jaimemieux]

Combeferre’s grin is almost sly. He is well aware of his wife’s minor obsession with that particular actor, and finds it charming. Sybbie, he has no doubt, will be singing along to Bing Crosby long before she is speaking in complete sentences. “I should have guessed. In that case, Holiday Inn sounds perfect."

[adifferentlife]

He is sweet, and she kisses him to show she appreciates his good humour about the situation.

"Next time we shall watch whatever you would like," she promises him, leaning back to settle against his side. Their home is warm, and whilst there may be a fierce storm outside, for now they are simply happy newlyweds spending a night together.

[jaimemieux]

“I promise, I have no objections to your Bing Crosby, so long as you do not expect me to sing along,” Henri says playfully, curling his arm around her. Of the two of them, Sybil is the one more likely to hunt down film after film, and Combeferre has largely followed her tastes in the matter, saccharine and harmless as they might be. Films are an escape, and these sweet romances, told in song and dance, certainly offer that. It’s precisely what they need on a night like this.

[adifferentlife]

"Not to sing, but perhaps to dance," she says to him, bright and teasing. It's a delight that he understands; that he doesn't mind the movies she chooses. "I'll expect you to take notes from the Astaire man."

[jaimemieux]

"Pardieu, will you never be satisfied, Madame?" Combeferre's eyes twinkle, his reprimand merely teasing. "I can dance precisely as well as I need to. I did not even step on your toes at our wedding."

[adifferentlife]

She can smile now because she is happy. A few months before and she would have only called herself overwhelmed, and she suspects Henri would have said the same. He is still too busy, and she means some night to ask him of it. Tonight, however, she is happy to tease and jest and be sweet. They need these moments.

"Only at practice," she adds, tilting her head upward to see his face."Never at the wedding."